The Chronicles : Of Elves and of Men
by Clarenova
Summary: Of Cities of Elves. The missing places, of the sadness of the passing age and the coming of the new. Reflections on the different people and places. Not humour. Slightly out of cannon due to faulty memory... o.O
1. Rivendell, Lothlorien, Mirkwood

The Chronicles : Of Elves and Of Man. 

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Disclaimer: Not mine. 

A/n: This came from the back of my mind, okay! It is of Elves and of Man. All the scenes that should have been, or were simply left out. Not a humour, and follows Tolkien's books as appropriately as fiction can allow me to. 

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Of Lothlorien, and Galadriel of the Golden Wood. 

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_She met him long ago, when the world was younger, and the days fairer. She came from noble lineage, and a lifeline riddled with despair and joy, interlacing in the lost centuries past. She came from a place where the Light of the Trees lived strong, and went they have both been through what few others have. She has lived through the War of the Jewels, seen war and beheld battle. The blood of wisdom runs through her veins, and ages of knowledge surround her in a glow. She is the Lady of the Golden Wood of Lothlorien, and few have been appointed with the importance of a ruler such as she as her husband Celeborn. She had been appointed with one of the Three rings, and lived her task fully. She has survived much, and will survive more. She dwells now beyond the sea, in Valinor, where the light lives on still._   
_She dwelled in the fairest of places, and governed the purest of lands, in Lothlorien, in the Golden Wood that provided a rare glimpse at days long past, where Elanor and Mellyrn grew still. But that age has past, and her land has faded far, and all that lives now is the scent upon the air, and even that holds barely onto the brink...___

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Of Rivendell, Imladris, and Elrond Perehdil, Halfelven.__

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_ Wisdom sat upon his brow, and his eyes told of the millennia long before, of sorrow and regret, and of celebration and happiness. They melded into one, and unwavering were his emotions as he beheld the world before him. Held high by both Elves and Man, he is Elrond Halfelven, from the line of Earendil of ancient times. His land brings peace, for a while, and his presence hope, his council knowledge. He is a commander of the peoples and born of his elven lineage. Long has he seen the sun set and rise, falling as a ball of fire before his eyes, and the moon rising above and dipping down low. His white city holds memories that can be felt, yet not seen. The air is scented with a fragrance indefinable, and it made your blood rush with an energy from the heart that told of things that were and things that were to come. Yet know the corridors lie empty, and the rooms are but a fragile lace that breaks upon contact. The laughter still rings upon the wind, but it is fading, and will dissipate away through the years, as the Bruinen flows still, as the waters of the Misty Mountains still course with power that now must go untamed, for none now live to harness it.___

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Of Mirkwood, Eryn Laesglen, Greenwood the Great, and of Thranduil and Legolas Greenleaf, the rulers of Northern Mirkwood. 

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_Both have lived through less, but they have both seen darker times. Their Kingdom is ruined with the foul yrch and the giant spiders that may roam still unguarded in the corners of Mirkwood. Yet once great it was, oh Greenwood the Great, and fair. But the times have faded, and the splendour of days past has now fallen into shadow, as the Silvan work to correct what will take much to piece back together. Darkness still lives on, though Sauron lies defeated and the Dark Tower has fallen. Alas that the seed that evil does sow will never die, but we are left to weed out what we can as it wrings away our hardworken soil. Stained is the glory of Mirkwood now, thus the name, but still you can feel it. The hazy presence that hangs dim in the air, faint, but there, if you stop and open yourself to what is around you. Much has changed that cannot now be corrected, but the race is still trying, though their efforts may be in vain. The race is dying, but it has not faded as of yet. Still the Silvan linger, but for only a while. Such was the influence of Thranduil, pushing his people, as through the Battle of the Five armies, through hardship and through joy. Yet has it not been at Laeglass (Greenleaf) of the Fellowship has now faded too, far into the west, where there lies Erresa, and the Last Shore? Even had he heeded Galadriels warning, Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, in joy thou has lived, beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall live in the forest no more, the blood of the Sindar still ran strong, and the longing cannot be put to rest until the final consequence.___

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A/N: So? I will be adding all the other characters later... 


	2. Gondolin, Alqualonde

::Of the lands further beyond:: 

Disclaimer: Not mine. My memory of the Silmarillion is shady, so if there is wrong information here, forgive me. 

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Of Alqualondë, Haven of the Swans, and the Kinslaying 

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_Long years have past since it was last heard of, the glistening white Haven of the Swans, shimmering under the silver stars. Where it now stands, alone and solemn, none now know, for the winds blow now in a different direction than they did so long before, sweeping up the dust and the sand, and shifting, shifting ever so. The storms harsh have blown over it, and the sun has beat down, golden and spectral, over its roof. The rain has battered its way down their foundations, tracing clear, cool and cruel down the intertwining images painstakingly carved on pillar, and the earth now crackles in brazen heat as it erodes slowly under the vicious nature that moves ever changing over it. It was so long ere this that the soft lapping of the crystal waters were splashing down on the harbour before the brilliant elegance of the curved structure of those white and silver boats, the very boats that from broke crisis, and the sturdy assurance of their white ships, and with it came tinkling laughter of child melding with the flowing waters, so unblemished by horror, and yet one of the greatest sins was then committed on those very shores that at one time held the giggling child and watchful mother, the strong warrior and the wise counsellor. The Kinslaying, the red blood that fell on the untarnished roads and blackened the pure waters. The white shores turned red by the hand of the sword, as elf clashed upon elf, and the brotherhood of the Firstborn was then broken. Now the silence rings fiercer even than the sounds of clashing metal, and yet the soft, rhythmic lapping of the waters still are as they were so long ago, telling of the stained past, and the tarnished future that now can never be.___

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Of Gondolin, the Hidden Rock, the Hidden City, and of Glorfindel (yay!) and the Battle with the Balrog.__

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_Oh the fair city of Gondolin! Forged, hidden in the mountains, fair was this rock, with its magnitude and captivating magnificence. The bravura of its shining lamps, the wonder of its carved pillars, the brilliance of its streets and the intensive art that surrounded its entire structure, as a massive painting, a single flower standing out in a field, a sparkle in the midst of darkness. The flowing reflections of the Elven fair in its fountains as they spurt water high above the ground, the silver encrusted works of art, the mithril and the diamonds, fair was the time of Gondolin! From it flowed wealth, and high honour, and its walls spoke of glory unheard. Tucked away in its far corner, the city sat guarded day and night, with its seven gates and its high walls, it was born of secrecy and it held its hidden power. Yet, hidden as it was, it could not escape, and Morgorth found his way, even through methods unbeknown to Gondolin's people. So betrayed by their own kin, Maeglin, and fallen was the city. The red fires roared high in blazing heat, and shadow over came the white city. The balrogs were loose, and they ravaged the streets, and yet there were those courageous enough to stand up to the monstrous beasts of evil. Glorfindel, chief of the guard of the House of the Golden Flower was one. Of the battle upon the pinnacle of a rock after the sack of the city many tales were woven, as they fought, and steel clashed with claw, shadow battling a small light that simply refused to die. So upon that perilous ledge they parried, back and forth, hither and thither, and finally, the balrog was slain in Glorfindel's last, valiant effort, and fell down the endless gorge. Weary, he staggered away, just as the evil came up for a desperate cling to life, and dragged him down, down in the black cavern that went ever downwards. Late were the eagles, but still they managed to retrieve the fallen elf's body, and lay it to rest upon a mound. Silent in mourning were the fallen tears, and he was never seen upon the face of Middle-Earth until one day, his soul left Mandos' halls to claim its place once more... _


End file.
